Falling Toys
by Always-Striving
Summary: The thing about toys is, if they fall hard enough, they break. The thing broken toys is, sometimes you can put them back together, and make them stronger than they were. AU


A/N: Because my mind no longer accepts canon Ozai, who has a devastating lack of development and humanity. And because part of me desperately wishes this family was at least a BIT happier. Generally ignores The Search Part 2, but does borrow elements from it.

* * *

It's too quiet.

Perhaps it's only her nerves, still buzzing from adrenaline, but Ursa can't push down the panic. The stillness of the night is unbearable: _He's not __here._

A million terrible, terrible thoughts flash through her head as she stares at their rendez-vous point, the vial in her hand already greased with sweat. Had he decided against their plan and gone ahead to kill Zuko? Had the Fire Lord uncovered their plot? Had he and the children -

The children.

She starts to take off in a dead run, but is knocked back hard against Ozai's broad chest. Ursa gasps and scrambles back, only just managing to keep from tumbling to the floor. The vial shatters. She looks at him with wide, trembling eyes, dreading that sadist's _grin_ on his face -

It's not there. In fact, he doesn't look triumphant at all. He looks _grim._

Twenty different questions spring to mind, but she opens her mouth and no sound comes out. The sticky words catch in her throat.

Beat.

Beat.

Beat.

"Azulon is dead." He says quietly, staring at the puddle, the shards. "An assassin. Stabbed."

Had he -

"It was not I, Ursa." Their eyes lock for the first time, and Ursa finds herself in awe of what she thinks might be _remorse_. "The body was cooling by the time I arrived. The child is safe. Let's go to bed."

Ursa follows silently, too dumbfounded to speak. Her mind is whirling as she tries to ignore the faint stench that reeks from her husband's robes.

_The children are safe._

o~O~o

Iroh has still not returned.

The palace is always too maddeningly silent, too muted, without her brother-in-law's infectious grin and easy manner, but now it's even worse. Her mind wanders absently to dark omens almost too grisly to bear as she feeds the turtleducks with her son the day after. One of the littlest ones _kecks!_ with curiosity before lurching one webbed foot out of the pond, then the other, and waddling over to her hand. She sighs.

"Mom?" Zuko. Ursa snaps out of her musings and turns to her child - her dear, dear precious child. He looks sullen. His knees are drawn up and hugged against his chest and there's a deep scowl on his face that makes her heart clench. She's been so lost in thought that she hasn't thought anything of Zuko's odd silence till now.

"Hm?"

He hesitates, "...did the Fire Lord die because of me?"

"What?" Horror seizes her. How could he - ? To think that her son could ever come to a conclusion like _that..._

_"I have no choice. Refusing the Fire Lord's command is treason. But I am a merciful man. I'm waiting until he's asleep. He won't feel a thing."_

...should be completely expected.

"Oh, darling..." She shakes her head, "No, no, _no..."_

"Then why is he dead?" Ursa is shocked by the loudness of his voice. When she gathers her poor son in her arms, she can feel him shaking.

"Zuko, Fire Lord Azulon was old. He died peacefully. None of this is your fault."

She feels his body tense. He doesn't believe her.

o~O~o

"Why's Grandfather dead?"

For all her penchant for deceit, Azula's approach is much more direct. She looks at her mother with those wide, amber eyes, almost accusatory in their clever innocence.

"Fire Lord Azulon, dear." She responds automatically.

The eyes narrow and the little mouth pulls down slightly in a pout. "Why is he dead?"

"He passed in his sleep, Azula."

_"Right after_ he ordered Dad to kill Zuko?"The little frown curls up into a little smirk, and Ursa feels something lurch from within.

"Lose that tone, young lady!" She snaps, only to regret it immediately after. Azula's artfully bemused stance tenses and straightens. Defiance rolls off in waves as she crosses her arms childishly.

"I'm just _saying,_ Mother." She replies, all gritted teeth and bitterness. "It's true. I heard it. But I guess if you want to just coddle _Dum-Dum_ all day, I can't stop you."

Azula turns and flounces away before her mother can say another word. Ursa is left yet again with silence as her only company, trying to understand walls and resentment and clever little girls, her heart heavy with longing.

o~O~o

Ozai is waiting for her when she retires to bed that night, his face is still creased by that unsettling, _haunted_ expression. A letter marred with ashy fingerprints is clenched in his hand.

"What is it?"

"Iroh is not coming home."

A lovely gilded vase catches her eye - Iroh's wedding present. Ursa can't bring herself to be surprised.

"I see."

o~O~o

She wakes with a start, and she can feel her husband inhaling sharply. Something tickles against her neck, and she can see metal gleaming in the moonlight.

The man cries out and screams as fire bursts from their fourposter bed, slamming against the wall with an ugly _thwump!_ and crumbling to the floor in a graceless heap. By the time Ozai drags him up by the front, he is unconscious.

Their eyes meet, and for the first time since their marriage began, they come to an unspoken agreement.

The man falls face first against the soft carpet, footsteps clattering away as his would-be victims rush towards their children.

o~O~o

It would be too much to say that the children are all right, but they're _alive._ Zuko's delirious and screaming from a bad burn across his eye, and Azula has some injuries of her own, (although at first she tries to hide it), but they're alive. The servants take their son away and ease him onto an infirmary cot as their daughter gasps and sobs against her mother's robes. Ursa sobs as well. Something inside her was broken and maimed along with her children, born from their suffering that she's helpless against. She grieves that this was what brought her and her daughter together.

She never notices her husband, who looks first at them, and then stares a good, long while at their moaning son. He stands proud and erect, still as a statue, but his eyes never leave the boy.

* * *

As always, point out any spelling/grammar mistakes I might have made. Constructive criticism and reviews of all kinds are appreciated (if you don't like my writing though, I'd at least like to know why).


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